


Sunburst Through Rain

by yozra



Series: Clash of Nature [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BokuAka Week Day 8, Elemental Magic, Flowers, Hint of IwaOi - Freeform, Language of Flowers, M/M, Secret Admirer, Weather
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: The sun wants to know more about the rain.The rain wishes to be left alone.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Clash of Nature [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868446
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	Sunburst Through Rain

**Author's Note:**

> secret _(“secret”)_ admirer | weather/rain/seasons | magic/mythology/fantasy au

Koutarou was a sun.  
  
Koutarou was a sun, but he wasn’t The Sun, the kind that raised its head over the horizon to greet the world and slipped unobtrusively away, remembered most when the skies had been doused by night, by cloud, by storm. No one ever doubted its return; indeed it was seen again after the clouds shifted and storms lifted, or when it raised its head over the horizon once more, albeit a little earlier, or later, depending on its daily and seasonal mood.  
  
Koutarou wasn’t The Sun, because he wasn’t timely enough – but that was because he hadn’t fully grasped the concept of time. He wasn’t big enough – but that was because his work wasn’t to cover a massive ball with light. He was confident he could match its intensity – if he wanted to – _really_ wanted to – but he didn’t, because doing so would scorch or ash everything he enjoyed on this planet. It was a delicate little place with fragile little things, people included. He couldn’t destroy the very thing he loved just to prove how strong he was. Which proved him strong in other ways, and that, he felt, made him even stronger.  
  
And it was exactly for his caring nature he was sent here to begin with – to make sure he brought warmth and glow in places where the sun couldn’t reach, just enough to help those surviving harsh weathers and chilly nights. He was told to visit, one by one, the people selected to keep his flame alive across the lands and gift them his light, and once that was done, return again to the core.  
  
He didn’t know how long he had been moving – the end never seemed to be in sight. He would think he was making progress when he found a new town or village had popped up and had to trek halfway back the way he came, or he would find he missed a temple high in the heart of the mountains or woods (and sometimes mountainous woods) (or maybe that should be woody mountains), and he had to change routes to loop the long way back to his original path.  
  
Eventually, _finally_ , he reached the last location, a little town called Fukuroudani, where the man in charge of the light, Konoha Akinori, was waiting for him at the mossy, mouldy gates. Akinori didn’t smile when greeting and bowing, but Koutarou didn’t find him hostile; he felt it was because he took his job seriously, and it eased his mind to know Akinori was the one responsible for the light.  
  
Koutarou heard a small hiss by his cheek as he stepped under the gates, and then another by his ear and his head; it intensified as Akinori guided him to the temple, like the town was hissing at him to leave.  
  
The rain didn’t affect Koutarou, even though water had natural advantage over him; sprinkles and showers evaporated long before hitting his skin. If the rain had been hammering down, he would ramp up his light to shield himself, and if it had been an absolute drencher, he would make himself a thick coat of light – which also left him naked, because his clothes couldn’t withstand the heat and disintegrated.  
  
He tried not to go out when it rained hard. Even with an umbrella in hand, he didn’t know when the thin spears would tear through the soggy paper. And people were fussy about appearing decent; it was one of the first lessons taught when arriving at his very first village, by the guardian with wild hair and a permanent grin.  
  
Akinori led Koutarou to the temple made of stone, surfaces smoothed and edges rounded – abraded, not intended as a part of the initial design. Koutarou ran his fingers across the wall when they entered; the stone was cold and damp, like it held years and years worth of water within its miniscule pores. It almost burnt his skin.  
  
Seven steps led up to the alter that looked more like a kitchen, a furnace filled with bark and leaves, ready to be lit. Koutarou squatted and put his hand on the dampened materials, added extra _oomph_ to his light and a fire roared from under his palm, licking to taste the wood, and seemingly satisfied, gnawing at it happily, snapping off its meal and releasing pops as steam caught in its throat.  
  
Koutarou lifted his hand away and shook it hard to cool.  
  
With a squeak and a thunk Akinori closed the metal furnace door, and a long scrape of metal on metal ricocheted between the cramped walls until a second thunk silenced the room.  
  
They were done.  
  
Outside, at the temple doorway, Akinori stopped and turned—  
  
“Now what happens? Are you heading back?”  
  
“I guess so.” Actually, Koutarou didn’t know what he was supposed to do after he was done, no one had told him the details. He didn’t know if someone was coming to pick him up, or if he was supposed to send a message to say he was done, and if he _was_ supposed to send a message, _how_ he was supposed to send one.  
  
“You can stay with me until you figure it out,” Akinori offered. “Just don’t burn the place down.”  
  
Koutarou beamed; Akinori squinted. “That’s so nice of you, Aki! I’ll be extra careful!”  
  
Koutarou followed Akinori back along the footpath hidden by bushes and soggy leaves mashed together into a single sheet carpeting the forest floor. He wondered how Akinori knew which weaves to make between the thick trunks.  
  
In the distance there was the sound of running water – fast, like a waterfall – which made Koutarou slow his steps to a standstill and stare in the direction of the source. It sounded… solitary, which was strange for rain considering all the splashes made from all those drops – and it sounded… suspicious, also strange because water couldn’t be stopped once on the move unless it hit an obstruction, so how could it be so cautious? And though the speed at which the water fell was the same as that of a waterfall, it didn’t crash and splash and foam. The sound was like…  
  
Rain.  
  
Koutarou looked up at the treetops. The sprinkling didn’t reach them much under the trees, but the raining waterfall couldn’t have been far, and from the intensity it should make its way to the forest grounds. Maybe there was a difference in clouds, and they were in a thinner sheet here compared to the thicker sheet wherever that sound was coming from—  
  
“Don’t go down there,” Akinori’s warning cut his thoughts.  
  
Koutarou turned to him. “Why not?”  
  
“Torrential rain – even if you lit up like the sun you’d get beaten down. Or if the rain doesn’t get you, the puddles will, they’ll swallow you whole. Either end isn’t a good one for you. Let’s go.”  
  
Koutarou trudged after Akinori, eyes to the ground, but every time he decided to look ahead he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, and he repeated this until the waters were only a trickle to be absorbed by earth and vegetation.

That night, Koutarou lay awake in bed and thought about what was behind the wet veil.  
  
He shifted to his left and stared at the mouldy wall, scraping at a big splotch with his nail.  
  
A sharp creak, and he flipped onto his right side, staring at the heavy wooden door that stared at him back, daring him to try and get through without making it groan and have owls hooting and dogs howling and Akinori waking up to give him a talking to like the first night he arrived.  
  
Another creak and Koutarou flipped onto his back to stare at the ceiling, a strip of moonlight in the top left corner—  
  
He pushed himself up; the window didn’t make much noise, and opened wide enough for him to climb through.  
  
Koutarou cloaked himself with his bedsheet, his simple shirt and trousers too thin to block the pale-gold glow of his skin that made him even more of a beacon at night. It was probably the first time he thought to remain out of sight – sneaking around wasn’t in his nature.  
  
As he climbed onto the window sill, a quiet creak made him pause, straining his ears for Akinori’s grumble; none came, so with another cream he jumped down to the ground, and began his journey.  
  
The rain had turned into a misty spray, and though the moon was visible, thick tufts of clouds were moving this way; Koutarou had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before more rain began to fall. Not that it mattered when he was inside the forest. He imagined if he were human, the cold air would send shivers every few steps, warning him to turn back and retire into the comforts of home.  
  
He didn’t have a place he called home here, so he pushed on through the warnings.  
  
His feet squished the damp debris muffling loud sounds, and at a particularly loud squidge he heard scurrying and flapping – first away, and then closer, as they became curious and drawn to the spot of warmth slipping between the trees so late at the night.  
  
And then he began to hear it, the distant waterfall roaring louder as he approached, and he thought the trees might be thinning, just past that row there—  
  
A clearing, with its ground filled with different shaded splotches, less colourful when coated in moonlight. It was like a wide river of flowers with no way of crossing except to trample over, stretching out of sight to the left and right. On the other side of the flowerbank was another layer of trees, and he knew once he was through those, he would reach the sound’s source.  
  
He didn’t want to trample over the flowers. So he went right, following the edge, searching for a good opening. Five minutes of jogging and he ran the other way for ten.  
  
The path was closed to him.  
  
And the water was making him fidgety. He wanted to see what was there—  
  
“What are you doing in this part of the woods?”  
  
Koutarou turned at the voice he thought he recognised, and the sight of the man – tonight in a long traveller’s cloak – confirmed his suspicions true.  
  
“Tooru!”  
  
Tooru walked up to come stand next to him. Koutarou pointed ahead.  
  
“I want to see what’s over there.”  
  
He glanced back to Tooru, glimpsing a thoughtful stare before a grin broke out.  
  
“It’s just rain,” Tooru said breezily.  
  
“I still want to see,” Koutarou said, a little firmer.  
  
Tooru laughed an airy laugh. “You’ll get all wet, Kou-chan!”  
  
Koutarou frowned; he didn’t like it when people dissuaded him without telling him why. “I’m going to go over.”  
  
He took a step, just so his toes touched the very edge of the flowerbed—  
  
“Iwa-chan’s not going to be happy if you trample over his beautiful garden.” His words were rushed this time.  
  
Koutarou turned back to him. “Then I’ll call on him and ask him to move it.”  
  
A breeze swept past to carry away Tooru’s smile, replacing it with an overcast. “Iwa-chan won’t be happy about that either.” He sighed and rolled up his sleeves. “Stay here,” he said and walked backwards—  
  
Several feet away and he stuck out his tongue, lowering into a pose as if he was readying himself to run.  
  
He charged at Koutarou – for a second, then disappeared, except for the cloak that flapped towards him as a powerful gust struck his body, sending him shooting backwards in one sweep, flowers rustling below his feet—  
  
His back crashed into something hard and a loud _crack_ echoed, followed by frantic flaps and scurries.  
  
“…Whoops,” Tooru said, materialising under the cloak.  
  
Koutarou looked over his shoulder and found the trunk bent – looked up to find branches tangled in the surrounding tress to keep it from falling.  
  
“Better get moving, Kou-chan, before Iwa-chan—”  
  
The ground beneath Koutarou quaked – the flame inside him quivered. The ground burst once, twice a foot away from his toes, thick great leaves twisting into spirals as it rose higher and higher, stopping at waist height to weave between themselves – like trousers; soil continued to heap until it rose to eye-level, shaping itself into a humanoid, smoothing out the skin while an invisible stick engraved features—  
  
“Before I what?” The shape rumbled, voice like rocks tumbling down a cliff; it coughed, cleared its throat until its voice quieted to human levels, just as its form settled into one – the earth spirit—  
  
“Hajime—”  
  
“Iwa-chan!”  
  
Tooru threw his arms around the solid form.  
  
Hajime glared at Tooru. “Before I what, Tooru – see the damage you just made?” The ground no longer shook, and Koutarou’s flame settled.  
  
“Technically it was Kou-chan who caused the damage, I just lifted him off his feet.”  
  
Hajime narrowed his eyes at Tooru, like he wanted to say something, but was holding himself back because they had company. He then turned his accusing glare to Koutarou. “Why are you over on this side?”  
  
“I want to see the rain!”  
  
A shadow also fell across Hajime’s face. “Why? Your flame’ll go out.”  
  
“Why does everyone keep saying that like it’s going to stop me from going? I’m the sun! I can easily vaporise the water!”  
  
“We might as well tell him,” Tooru said, releasing Hajime and stepping back. “He’s going to have to meet him at some point.”  
  
“Who?” Koutarou asked.  
  
“Keiji-chan. He’s a rainmaker. He rained himself in his house and rained himself out of all public appearances.”  
  
“Keiji’s not just a rainmaker, he’s the force of water.” Hajime glanced to Tooru, his glare now twisted with concern. “And he didn’t rain himself in or out. He’s… on a break.”  
  
“Then don’t you think it’s unfair that we’re all forever working without a single moment’s respite and he gets his holiday for – how many years has he been like this?!”  
  
Hajime sighed heavily, like it had been plastered over and over with the same argument. “You like fanning the breeze and whipping around. I like growing plants and cracking rocks. Koutarou likes warming people and brightening their days. Keiji likes drowning out noise and inventing ways to move water around without getting his hands wet.”  
  
“Why?” Koutarou asked once more.  
  
Hajime shrugged—  
  
Tooru waved a hand—  
  
“Because he’s tired of people and their waterlog of wishy-washy demands.”  
  
They glanced at each other and shared a weary smile.  
  
“Then I definitely need to see him if he’s one of you!”  
  
Koutarou pushed himself off the tree – an ominous crack rang out and branches started snapping overhead; Koutarou dashed into the trees, ignoring the rolling ground and howling wind telling him to wait.  
  
It was dark – he fumbled with the knot of his cloak and flung it aside, body temperature rising from the run and lighting up his path just enough to stop him from running headfirst into the trees—  
  
He halted – a loud squelch as the ground swallowed his feet so they stuck to the muddy ground, helping to stop him from hurtling headfirst into a wall—  
  
A wall of rain.  
  
If he jumped in as he did now, everyone would have been right. The rain would pierce and slice and beat him to the ground and he would disappear.  
  
“Told you,” the breeze murmured in his ear as a cloak came to hover beside him; a huff and Tooru appeared. “You can’t go through. Even I have a hard time getting through. And Iwa-chan can’t get a good grip to materialise without looking like a mud monster.”  
  
The grip around his legs loosened and another form appeared on his other side; still humanoid that appeared to be Hajime, but wetter – muddier.  
  
Koutarou looked out into the rain. If he stared long and hard, maybe he would be able to make out a shape.  
  
“I want to meet him.”  
  
“I know you’re powerful, Kou-chan, but even I’m doubting whether the power of the sun can withstand Keiji-chan’s stubbornness not to see anyone.”  
  
“Koutarou could,” Hajime said with grounded confidence. “None of us can beat the sun.”  
  
Koutarou widened his eyes and excitement flared up inside. “Iwa-chan!”  
  
The brows furrowed. “I’m not saying your survival rate’s a hundred percent. Tooru’s right – Keiji’s stubborn.”  
  
“We’ll see who’s more stubborn,” Koutarou said, getting heated at the challenge. The wet monochrome wall started glistening silver and gold. “How far do I go?”  
  
“About five minutes,” Hajime said. “I’ll lay the groundwork over the ponds – not one foot off it, I won’t be able to save you if you hit the water.” He glanced to Tooru. “Stay here – I’ll be back after this.”  
  
“I missed seeing mud-monster Iwa-chan,” Tooru said gleefully. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you nice and dry, and once the mud’s cracked off, your skin’ll be glowing!”  
  
Hajime pointedly ignored him and sank wordlessly into the soil.  
  
“Be careful, Kou-chan. It would be a shame to say good-bye to you.”  
  
Koutarou rolled up his sleeves and kept his feet on the ground. “See you later, Tooru.”  
  
As soon as he saw a path forming ahead, Koutarou burst into flame and shot off.  
  
The water hissed and sizzled, white steam clouding his sight, but it didn’t matter, because he had Hajime setting the path for him, just one foot ahead as Koutarou blazed through. It was hard work holding onto the energy of the sun, and he knew a return trip was all he could manage without burning himself out.  
  
He felt pressure from above – the rain was driving harder into the ground – and he picked up his pace, a split second’s difference between the path and his foot touching the ground and he looked up, sensing he was near—  
  
Another wall appeared in front of his face and his feet suddenly stuck to the ground – his body slammed into the door, knocked the fire out of him, and he bounced off—  
  
He gripped the beams of the roofed doorway and stopped himself from stumbling backwards into the rain. He muttered a thanks to the Sun that the roof extended beyond so the rain didn’t touch his hands.  
  
His chest heaved as he inhaled oxygen to fuel his body, and he looked down to find the ground that had cemented him melting into a muddy pool.  
  
The damp thunk from behind the door made Koutarou straighten and look expectantly at the slowly opening door; he readied himself to say—  
  
Something. He forgot what he was supposed to say. Or what he was supposed to do. How to form words using vocal chords he still didn’t understand how they were played. Koutarou thought this must be how submerging under water would feel like, breath trapped in his lungs and his surroundings blurred except for what was immediately in front of his nose – in this case, this man, this _beautiful_ man, Keiji, standing in a silky, navy robe, staring at him.  
  
And then Keiji leaned around the door to inspect its front, and the black scorch that looked suspiciously like Koutarou’s body marking the wood. A glare sidled onto Koutarou; it would have made the blood in Koutarou’s body chill, if he had blood, and if he could physically become cold.  
  
“Sorry,” Koutarou said with an apologetic smile, hoping it would soften the glare.  
  
The glare dipped—  
  
The beating of rain against wood grew into loud knocks and – Koutarou glanced over his shoulder to find drops hardened into pellets of hail, bouncing off the building and making large splashes as it crashed into the puddle lakes. He shuffled forward, not wanting to be caught by the water. The colder weather would make his return easier, ice melted better than water and it would save his clothes from—  
  
Koutarou then remembered.  
  
“Clothes!” Koutarou turned back to Akaashi, giving him a sheepish grin. “I forgot they would burn off.” He made the lower half of his body glow in gold that obscured the details. “It’s bright, but at least I’m decent…?” With the improved lighting, he glanced past Keiji to glimpse the inside of his home – murky and almost like peering into a swamp – and he slipped his gaze to the side to meet the frozen pools of Keiji’s eyes.  
  
“Do you make it rain inside, too?” Koutarou blurted under the pressure.  
  
Keiji blinked slowly, the opposite of what anyone would do when a bright light was shining in their face.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Does the rain ever let up?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Don’t you get tired of being in the same weather?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh.” Koutarou had run out of questions. “It’s lucky I’m a sun – I wouldn’t have been able to get through all the rain if I was any weaker! Did you make it rain harder because you knew I was coming?”  
  
Unlike the other replies, there was a thoughtful pause; the punching hail lightened to return to constant streaming.  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
“I wanted to meet you! I didn’t even know you existed until I came to Fukuroudani. I heard the rain when I was walking through the forest – I thought it was a waterfall at first because it was so hard – like someone was pouring huge buckets! And then I went looking for it. Tooru and Iwa-chan helped. They ‘re the ones who told me about you.” Koutarou beamed. “I’m Koutarou.”  
  
“Did they also tell you I refuse visitors?” Keiji said without pause.  
  
Koutarou’s beam flickered, and began to disappear as Keiji closed the door—  
  
Koutarou slammed his hand against the heavy wood, realised too late his hand was glowing white and quickly pulled it away—  
  
The door was marked with another scorch, this time a handprint.  
  
Keiji reappeared from behind the door to run his fingers over the new mark; the rain wavered into a sigh as he lowered his hand.  
  
“…Sorry.” Koutarou hung his head – and noticed Keiji grip his hand, knuckles white against his already pale skin. Something about the sight made him want to grab his hands and warm them. “I thought you might want to get to know me,” he admitted quietly, his smile washed away. He looked up, straight at those eyes that reflected gold but nothing of what lay underneath; he hoped his intentions came across as sincere. “I want to know more about you.”  
  
Another thoughtful pause. Koutarou thought the streaming water weakened, just a fraction.  
  
“Whatever Tooru-san and Hajime-san told you is all you need to know, whatever else they have left to tell you is all there is to know. Now, please leave. You’re disturbing me.”  
  
The door closed in his face with a decisive thud.

* * * * * * * * *

“What are you doing under the table?”  
  
Koutarou raised his head from the pit created by his arms hugging his knees to find Akinori crouching and watching with a sceptical look.  
  
“Water hates me.”  
  
Koutarou waited for the scolding he was sure would follow.  
  
Akinori said nothing as he stared.  
  
“Clearly not enough if he didn’t take you out.”  
  
Akinori pushed himself up and strode out of the kitchen.

* * * * * * * * *

Koutarou returned to the garden of wild flowers, sitting at the edge to listen to the rain beyond the trees, straining his ears for murmured secrets on how he could befriend Keiji.  
  
The ground rumbled underneath, like the gentle growl of his stomach reminding him to take care of his body’s needs. Koutarou didn’t turn as Hajime came to sit beside him.  
  
“His eyes were like glitter.”  
  
“From your sunlight,” Hajime said pragmatically. “Did he shut the door in your face?”  
  
Koutarou released a sigh. “His voice was like a drizzle.”  
  
Hajime let out a surprised ‘huh’ that had Koutarou turning his head.  
  
“What?” Koutarou asked.  
  
“Keiji rarely says anything. He’ll go so far as to open the door – he always wants to know who gets through his barrier – but otherwise he’s not interested.”  
  
“I want to get to know him,” Koutarou said, and he thought back to Keiji’s face. To his hands. “How do I get to know him?”  
  
“Leave him letters,” the wind whispered as it brushed his ear. Koutarou looked around and saw an open shirt and a pair of trousers coming to float by Hajime – Tooru popped into sight, fully dressed. “But you’ll burn the paper if you do, and Iwa-chan would smudge the ink.”  
  
“And I don’t know how to write your language properly,” Koutarou said, a little upset. He didn’t understand how loops expressed anger and corners expressed joy; he was sure if everyone expressed themselves exactly the way they felt, there would be no misunderstandings.  
  
“Leave him… flowers,” Hajime said slowly. “They’ll convey your message.”  
  
“That’s all very romantic, but” – Tooru nudged Hajime – “the flowers won’t burn how?”  
  
“Easy – I’ll encase them in a protective clay, you can dry it, and Koutarou can fire it up while he makes his way to Keiji’s house. Crack it in half, and you’ve got yourself a potted flower.”  
  
“That’s… far too smart for you, Iwa-chan, what miracle fertiliser have you been chomping on recently?”  
  
Hajime grabbed Tooru into an arm lock – or tried to, with Tooru gripping his arms and trying to keep them from squeezing. Koutarou ignored their rough and tumble, and scanned the flowerbed for a suitable flower.  
  
He liked yellow best, a good colour to represent him and his intentions, a bright step forward in their friendship. He pointed to the yellow flowers with frilly petals. “What about those flowers over there?”  
  
“That’s carnation,” Hajime said through gritted teeth. “You don’t want to give him that.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because the yellow version’s said to mean disdain—”  
  
Hajime collapsed forward onto the ground, clutching only a shirt; a breeze swept across Koutarou’s face along with the pair of trousers Tooru had been wearing, and Tooru emerged topless beside him.  
  
“That’s cheating!” Hajime accused.  
  
“You didn’t say no powers allowed,” Tooru said, grinning.  
  
Koutarou glanced back at the flower garden and pointed to another set of flowers that were close to his feet – also frilly, but more rounded, like little buttons. “Those ones—”  
  
“Marigolds.” Hajime pushed himself up, dusting off each hand, and threw the shirt at Tooru, who caught it and pulled it over his head. “Yeah, they’re cute, but those are jealousy and despair.”  
  
Koutarou looked and pointed to the low bushes in the centre. Even he knew what they were.  
  
“Roses! You can’t go wrong with yellow roses!”  
  
“You don’t want to start by giving roses to someone like Keiji, he won’t believe you’re serious. And yellow roses might mean friendship, but they also mean love fading.”  
  
Hajime began to wander along the flowerbed.  
  
“Try this one.”  
  
He dug his fingers into the soil and lifted a rounded clump with roots dangling, white flowers sticking out from the top.  
  
“Anemone,” Hajime told him. “White means sincerity. He’ll like that.”  
  
“Only if he knows the meaning of it,” Tooru cut in.  
  
“Who doesn’t associate white with pure intentions—”  
  
“People who associate it with illnesses—”  
  
“ _Innocence_ —”  
  
“Death—”  
  
“Cut that out! I know my flowers!”  
  
“You might know your flowers, but _I_ know more about what people say about your flowers.”  
  
The double force of their stares almost made Koutarou sweat in his own flame.  
  
“Uh...” He glanced to the flowerbed and back to Hajime. “Do they come in yellow?”  
  
“That’s not such a bad idea,” Tooru said, and pointed at the anemone in Hajime’s hand. “Turn them yellow.”  
  
“I can’t just ‘turn them yellow’ once they’ve grown,” Hajime grumbled, and continued to grumble under his breath – though that may have been the ground vibrating after putting the white anemones aside to set both palms onto the soil; sprouts pushed their way through, leaves fanned out, and stems stretched upwards, buds popping up to finally unfurl petals that matched the colour of Koutarou’s light.  
  
Hajime stared at it, as still as a rock.  
  
“What are you thinking, Iwa-chan?” Tooru called.  
  
Hajime frowned. “I feel like I’m forgetting something…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”  
  
Releasing the ground, Hajime went to the trees and disappeared, reappearing a moment later holding a rock as large as his head. He set it by his feet, and with his nails scooped out the centre like he was scooping out fruit; he took the clump of soil with the white anemone to stick into the groove, turning the rock into a flowerpot.  
  
“That’s for you,” Hajime said, holding it out towards them; Koutarou sensed it was a gift for Tooru, and meekly kept silent. “I’ll let you decide its meaning.”  
  
Koutarou stole a quick glance at Tooru, who had a blush colouring the tips of his smile.  
  
“Now let’s get cracking with your flower.”

Koutarou returned to the house with its doorway still marked with his body, having used the same pathway Iwaizumi made before. They were all surprised it remained above water, and Tooru exclaimed it was a sign Keiji took a liking to Koutarou. Koutarou wanted to believe him, but Hajime told him not to get his hopes up yet.  
  
He almost knocked – his right fist hovering ready over his handprint while the oval terra cotta encasing was cradled in the nook of his left elbow—  
  
He lowered his hand.  
  
Keiji didn’t want to talk to anyone. He might have done the other day when Koutarou smashed into his door, but he hadn’t wanted to. And if that wasn’t what he wanted, and Koutarou was back here forcing him to, Keiji would be even less happy about being disturbed.  
  
Koutarou wanted them to get along, not create a divide.  
  
So he crouched and tapped the centre of the oval against the corner of the top step, forming a crack and the beginnings of an equator. Koutarou tapped all the way around, until the clay split into two and the flower appeared. It looked a little limp, so he ramped up his light – it immediately perked up. He lowered the flowerpot by his feet, let go of his gift and turned his back to the house.  
  
He hoped it wouldn’t be too long before Keiji opened the door out of his own will.  
  



End file.
